


Sherlock and Moriarty watch crap telly

by NotTheDoctor



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Crap Telly, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-12
Updated: 2012-11-12
Packaged: 2017-11-24 05:39:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/631030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotTheDoctor/pseuds/NotTheDoctor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You’re not even going to change the channel.” John rubbed his forehead and let out a laugh under his breath. He was living in a bad sitcom. His reality had not only been shattered, it had been beat dead and thrown into a river.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sherlock and Moriarty watch crap telly

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on Deviant art as well, but all my fanfiction will now be posted here on AO3!  
> Not-TheDoctor@deviantart.com

“Stockholm syndrome, that’s why” stated Moriarty flatly. He let his legs dangle over the couch arm and leaned into Sherlock, who was sitting with his knees up to his chin and hands wrapped around his legs. “She didn’t know she was kidnapped, so that doesn’t apply.” Sherlock rolled his eyes and huffed.  
“It’s textbook Sherlock, whether she knows she was kidnapped or not is irrelevant, she has all the symptoms. Don’t be boring.” Moriarty leaned back and let the back of his head rest on Sherlock’s boney shoulder.  
“You just won’t admit you’re wrong, name calling will get you nowhere.”  
“Johns home.” Moriarty stated without taking his eyes off the telly.  
“I know.”  
John came stomping up the stairs and flung open the door. “Sherlock I swear this better be an emergency you can’t keep-” John stumbled back at the sight in front of him. Sherlock and Moriarty were on the sofa (neither bothered to even look up as John entered) with the telly moved to the center of the living room placed on the coffee table. John wanted to say something obvious and redundant like “Sherlock! It’s Moriarty!” or “ Sherlock run!” But living with a mad consulting detective for so long started to take its toll and ‘normal’ was beginning to be a foreign concept.  
“Why is Moriarty- I mean- really Sherlock?” John sighed and pinched his nose, looking down at the floor to give his brain time to figure out the scene that was in front of him.  
“Remote, John” Sherlock said, eyes still focused on the telly. He couldn’t have sounded more bored if he tried.  
“That’s the emergency.”  
“Yes.”  
“I ran here, find Moriarty in our living room, and the REMOTE that is two feet from you is the emergency.”  
“Three feet seven inches.” Moriarty interrupted.  
John shot him a look, which was not acknowledged as Moriarty had yet to tear his eyes of the telly to look at John. John’s brain hurt. Reality didn’t exist. His life was a series of random occurrences, as if God was playing dice with his life. John was past annoyed. He walked over to the remote and picked it off the floor and handed it to Sherlock’s waiting hand. Sherlock took the remote and handed it over to Moriarty, who then set it down at his side and continued to watch the screen.  
“You’re not even going to change the channel.” John rubbed his forehead and let out a laugh under his breath. He was living in a bad sitcom. His reality had not only been shattered, it had been beat dead and thrown into a river. He then looked over at the telly to see what could possibly be so entertaining as to keep the world’s only consulting detective and the worlds most insane consulting criminal occupied so feverishly.  
“You two are watching Tangled. A children’s film. Watching it Together, in our flat. Tangled. Watching it together, thick as thieves.” It needed to be said, twice.  
“Obviously.” Stated Sherlock.  
“Duuuuh.” Wined Moriarty.  
John felt like he was going to have an aneurism. “I’m not even going to ask, and I don’t care.” He sighed and went into the kitchen to make tea, he was going to need it to distract himself and keep from over thinking the impossibility of his life.  
“No milk!” Moriarty shouted into the kitchen.  
“Same as usual for me, John.” Sherlock yelled.  
John took his time making the tea. Tea was safe, tea was predictable. Tea didn’t watch telly with people who tried to kill them. Tea didn’t leave human fingers in the fridge. Tea didn’t tie explosives to his chest by a pool. When he finished making the saintly and angelic liquid that was tea, John brought it back into the living room and placed the plate with all it’s cups by the telly. It was at that moment John realized both Sherlock and Moriarty had finally decided to look up, not at the tea, but at John.  
“No” said John, waving his hands in the air. “Not you both, not at the same time. I have enough of Sherlock deducing every minute of my life without having to deal with a mad criminal doing it too.” John tried to look and be intimidating, but it was pointless. He could see them both doing that thing- moving their eyes rapidly over him and seeing his entire day written all over his body.  
“Date again.” Sherlock said, reaching for two cups of tea.  
“Failed date you mean.” Said Moriarty, waving a hand and grabbing the cup of tea Sherlock handed to him.  
“Stop. I don’t care how you’re doing it, just stop.” John went over to the safety of his favorite chair in an attempt to hide from their gaze.  
“Ah, he actually dumped this one, Interesting.” Sherlock sipped his tea.  
“She was cheating. Just started though-” Moriarty started.  
“Stop, both of you. I’m in no mood” John let out a heavy sigh.  
“Tired of John’s inattentiveness” Sherlock interrupted.  
“And lack of initiative.” Moriarty added.  
“Arrgh!” John stormed toward his room, tea in hand.  
“Wait! Let me look in your pockets!” Sherlock yelled out.  
“That’s cheating!” Moriarty nudged Sherlock in the ribs.  
“No, it’s being resourceful.”  
“You might as well just have him tell you about the sorry excuse for a date then.”  
“I have a theory about the ex-girlfriends family history, I need to see inside his pockets to confirm.”  
“If you can’t tell by the lack of mud on Johns shoes you don’t deserve to know!” Moriarty shouted.  
“Don’t waste time doubting me Jim, I’ve deduced 89% accurately about the movie so far why you are at a mere 83%.” Sherlock huffed, giving Moriarty his best ‘I’m smarter than all of you’ look.  
“Bullocks!” yelled Moriarty; it was the last audible thing John heard before slamming his bedroom door shut and flopping on to his bed. He heard tea cups break, blame being thrown and all other manner of rudeness two people who believed themselves to be the smartest in the world would hurl at each other.  
After a very restless nap, John ventured downstairs. Moriarty was in the kitchen doing god-knows-what to the fingers Sherlock left in the fridge, and Sherlock was sprawled dramatically on the sofa looking completely debauched as usual.  
John grabbed his coat and left to go out. Sadly, he knew this wasn’t going to even come close to being the weirdest day of his life yet.


End file.
